The Woman in White

David Stuart Davies reviews the BBC production that concluded last night.

‘This is story of what a Woman’s patience can endure, and of what a Man’s
resolution can achieve.’

Wilkie Collins – The Woman in White.

Wilkie Collins’s dark and compelling tale The Woman in White, which is widely regarded
as the first ‘mystery novel’, was a literary sensation at the time of its
publication in 1860 and it remains an engrossing psychological thriller with an
overpowering mood of threat and suspense. The original narrative and bold
characterisation need little tweaking to emphasise certain concerns of modern life. However screenwriter Fiona Seres cranks up
such issues as mental and physical abuse and the power of men over women –
think of the Weinstein scandal and the Me Too movement today. Marian Halcombe,
the major heroine who refuses to let her gender define her, so brilliantly
portrayed by Jessie Buckley, observes; ‘How is it that men crush women time and
time again and go unpunished.’ In essence she is referring to Sir Percival
Glyde, her half-sister Laura Fairlie’s overbearing husband but the message is
clear as she adds, ‘If men were held accountable they’d hang every hour of the
day, every day of the year.’ Glyde’s
villainy, while appearing modern, is reflecting centuries of entitlement and mid-nineteenth
century law, when a was more or less her husband’s servant, her independence
and finances handed over to him upon marriage. Dougray Scott’s Glyde is never
even charming on the surface – he is selfish, vicious and brutal. His
creepiness and forceful nature are truly frightening. It is a performance of
great power. I certainly wouldn’t want to be in a room with this monster.

Any television adaptation of a novel, especially one
as long and with multiple narrative perspectives as The Woman In White, requires some changes to make it effective as a
drama. It is often necessary to take certain liberties with the plot and characters
to make a dramatised version acceptable and accessible to a modern audience,
while at the same time remaining true to the essence of the original. It is a
difficult and finely tuned process but for this reviewer Fiona Seres got it
just right. The novel, initially serialised in in episodes over twelve months,
has been nipped and tucked in certain areas and extended in others to enrich
the whole. After a rather languorous first episode, the tension was effectively
cranked up and remained intense until the final moments. It was twenty years
ago when the BBC last gave us a version of this tale in two hour-long episodes.
It was well done and gripping but as a version of Collins’ novel it was severely
truncated. This new adaptation takes the time to deal with all the intricacies
of the clever and convoluted plot.

Some of the ‘changes’ have been most interesting. The
adaptation revealed that the overbearing and heartless Glyde was a tormented
soul whose villainy caused him a deep psychological anguish. This take on the
character gave him more depth and a darker reality than the fellow in the
novel. Dougray Scott grasped with both hands the opportunity to bring give us
this version of Glyde and gave us a chilling portrait of a doomed yet cruel
man, caught in a web of his own greed: a man desperately in debt and concealing
a dark secret whose only apparent salvation is to marry a young heiress.

Count Fosco is one of the great villains of literature but in the
novel and in so many dramatisations he appears almost as a comic opera baddie. Collins
describes him as a charming Italian nobleman who is ‘immensely fat’, with a predilection
for letting his pet mice run over his body. This might work effectively on the
written page but it is maybe a little too risible for the modern viewer and so
instead of the chubby mouse man we have what the Daily Telegraph reviewer described as a, ‘broodingly handsome
Italian who resembles a tousle-haired member of One Direction or a young Ian
McShane – which made his sexual chemistry with Marian all the more plausible.’ Riccardo Scamarcio as the Count is brilliantly,
sibilantly sinister and, despite not pleasing all viewers, this slimmed down
version of Fosco is a much more threatening fellow than the one portrayed in
other dramatisations.

All the performances were powerful and polished but
Jessie Buckley and Olivia Vinall are particularly impressive as the vulnerable
half-sisters. Vinall, cast as Laurie Fairlie and Anne Catherick, the Woman in
White herself, is convincing in both roles, subtly demonstrating Laura’s mental
decline, as a result of her incarceration in an asylum which is depicted
graphically, emphasing her similarity to Catherick.

Sir
Percival meets a fiery fate while
attempting to destroy evidence of his illegitimacy and Fosco’s past betrayals
catch up with him and he is bumped off by Walter’s old friend Pesca (Ivan Kaye)
for betraying a nationalist brotherhood. The two climaxes, each brilliantly
handled, with Art Malik’s wounded yet dignified scrivener Erasmus Nash on hand
to ensure fair play where possible and clarity in the labyrinthine narrative.
Nash was a Seres invention, but worked handsomely as a canny tool to negotiate
the slabs of exposition while maintaining pace and tension.

With
a rousing climax and a suitably happy ending, this interpretation by Fiona
Seres has shown admirable fidelity to the original while teasing out
contemporary themes. I am
sure Wilkie Collins would have admired this fine production, which confirms the
power and intensity of his novel.